The Ladybug
How a trip to Target gave me a much needed sign from beyond.
It was a Thursday morning. I could hear the front door closing in the other room, signaling that my husband just left for his job on the Westside of Los Angeles. Morning sun peeked through the curtains as birds chirped and light traffic moved on our Koreatown street. My two-year-old son was sleeping on his tummy on his Bob the Builder bed. From my neighboring bed, I watched the gentle rise of his slumbered breaths and wished his dreams were a mixture of joyful and peaceful fun. I looked at my three-month-old daughter, nursing at my breast. I sighed deeply as I contemplated what to do on this day. An anniversary. The date on which my mother unexpectedly left the world ten years before.
It feels good when somebody is rooting for you, cheering you on, even if that person is yourself. That day, I decided to challenge myself by running an errand without the benefit of having my spouse or a friend as an extra set of hands. I decided this was going to be the day I go to Target with two babes for no other reason than to prove to myself that I can. Something that I can cheer myself on and claim as a win. As a young mother, I needed some mothering and a first world errand seemed like a panacea of sorts.
Maybe it was the significance of the day that beckoned me to be brave. Maybe it was sleep deprived mommy brain. Maybe it was an irresistible pull to see aisles filled with things I likely didn’t need and see whether I succumbed to its dazzle. And there I was, driving to Target, balancing my fear and my bravery. Shortly into the drive, my daughter’s pacifier fell out, causing her to fuss. She cried until I was able to park and nurse her in the backseat while my son made vroom vroom noises with his handheld firetruck. When my daughter finished, I strapped her into the infant carrier and my son into a shopping cart. Okay, all safe and secure, I thought to myself.
As I navigated through the aisles of Target, I mentally gave myself a tap on the back. I had driven two babies to Target, fed one, placated another — and no one was crying, not even me. I had this motherhood thing down. So why was I yearning for my mother to tell me I was doing a good job despite all the evidence?
Growing up, I watched my single mother work multiple jobs while raising her three daughters. After I graduated college, I decided I would become a professional — one that made enough money so my mother could retire early and start enjoying life. When I told my mother my plan to apply to law school, she became quiet and asked me why. She was confused, never having pictured me as a legal advocate. I explained to my mom that I enjoyed reading and writing, and that my undergraduate business law teacher said I had a knack for documents. He could have been suggesting a secretarial job but I began to imagine that I too, could be a lawyer. If I became a lawyer, I could start taking care of my mother, just as she always took care of me. I hatched a plan to apply to law school while juggling several jobs and studying for the LSAT.
After an interview for an assistant position for an NFL team, I was encouraged to try out for the cheerleaders. I didn’t want to but I knew trying would send a better message than not trying. My secret hope was that after I was cut, the front office would remember me and hire me as an assistant. Sitting alone at the tryouts, I couldn’t help but wonder what I was doing there. I was surrounded by beautiful and confident looking young women. I didn’t belong with them.
A kind girl, who resembled a softer version of Pamela Anderson, came and sat next to me. She had a reassuring smile and her blue eyes twinkled. She must have sensed my anxiety. We introduced ourselves and admitted that it was both our first tryout. Soon after, current members of the squad came over. “Come on, we’ll help you learn the routines,” said one of them. These girls took us under their wing, and I was surprised by how nice they were. I wanted to work with them, so I practiced hard at both the routines and the interviews. No one was more surprised than I was when I made the squad. I was a professional! Maybe not the kind I imagined, but it was a start. When I told my mom that I was an NFL cheerleader, she looked at me with furrowed brows, “Pootball? Is it dangerous?”
“Not for me,” I assured her. She eyed me skeptically and I could tell her Filipino mind was worried about this American thing she didn’t understand. A few days later, she surprised me by asking if she could come to a game. She had mentioned my “cheerleading job” to a coworker who had been impressed, so then my mother became impressed. Even though I knew she still didn’t understand football and cheerleading, I was happy she wanted to see what I’d been working so hard at.
The hot sun beamed over my mother and her coworker as they sat on the bleachers of my first game. My mother used the periscope of my father’s old hunting rifle to find me on the sidelines. She told me that the men sitting around her asked where she kept her gun, and burst into laughter. “I made them laugh!” she recalled proudly. I didn’t say anything, knowing the men had been mocking her, just like in the fifth grade, when the boys would laugh as they tugged at my bra straps.
One month later, I was packing my LSAT book as I was getting ready to leave my day job. I was hoping to study before cheerleading practice. The phone rang. “It’s Mom,” said my sister, her voice shaking. “She fell at work. She’s in the ICU.”
I called my cheerleader captain to explain that I would miss practice. On the way to the hospital, I convinced myself that my mother would be fine. She had survived an abusive husband and financial insecurities. She would be fine. Less than twenty-four hours later, my mother died from an aneurysm.
As I fumbled through administering her probate, I reconsidered law school. Why become a professional when my mother was gone? My fellow cheerleaders encouraged me to take the LSAT. If I got into law school, I could take it as a sign. I applied to one law school and was accepted.
After two years, I found myself questioning why I was at law school. Because if the only reason I had set out on this path was to take care of my mother, and she was no longer here, then why was I here? Well-meaning friends tried to cheer me on, but it became harder to cheer myself on. I moved far away. Moving meant that I wasn’t going to try out for cheerleading again — that I could no longer use my cheerleading identity to keep me from acknowledging my grief.
Most nights I cried myself to sleep, wishing I wouldn’t wake up. School and work felt lonely and hard. On one of those dark nights, I woke from a dream, my face wet with tears. I recalled my dream as my hand reached for my lips.
I was in a white room that had no temperature, no walls, no ceiling, no floor. It was just an expanse, and me. I felt calm. Then my mother appeared, standing several feet away. My heart swelled. She looked exactly as I remembered her, with wavy dark hair that was flecked with gray, styled short just below her ears. Her ivory skin and kind almond eyes looked upon me. She, too, was taking me in after a long time apart.
I felt an urge to run to her, to hold her in a tight embrace, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen and so was my mother. All we could do was look at each other. Silent tears fell down my cheeks. We wanted to hold each other, but an unknown force greater than the two of us was in that white room. It was the force that separates the living from those who have passed.
My tears pleaded to be released from my frozen state. I could see my mother’s eyes taking on my sadness. In response to my pain, a ladybug emerged from her and flew towards me. It landed gently on my mouth as if giving me a kiss. At that moment, I awoke.
The kiss from the ladybug was a hug to my soul. I emerged from bed, feeling hopeful. I looked at the calendar and saw the familiar date — it was four years to the day since my mother had unexpectedly left this world. That was the day I began to feel the courage to cheer myself on.
I graduated from law school and worked several more jobs, not all law related. I got married. When pregnant with our son, my husband and I agreed that I would be a stay-at-home mom for the first few years. My one role model for being a mother was gone, and I didn’t know how to be one. Who was going to tell me if I was doing it right or wrong? I wasn’t sure if I still wanted to be a lawyer, but I knew I wanted to be good at being a mother.
Strolling through Target with my two babies, I was surprised to see the Halloween costumes already on display. I turned my cart down the aisle. “What do you want to be for Halloween?” I asked my son. He looked around and then stopped, his eyes lighting up. He pointed to a costume hung high on the rack and exclaimed, “Ladybug!”
It was the first time I had heard him say the word. I blinked my eyes hard and looked at my son. He was still pointing to the plush ladybug costume. “Are you sure?” I asked. He nodded eagerly. I began to cry. That moment was the sign that I had yearned for. My mother was cheering me on, telling me that I was doing a good job.
